


His Favorite Christmas Story

by dreamerfreak



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (but only for a while), Alternate Universe - 1930s, Bittersweet, Christmas, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Katsuki Yuuri In a Dress, M/M, Magical Realism, Merry Vicmas, Second Chances, Songfic, inspired by a christmas song, my tags are a mess but i'm on holiday and don't give a fuck :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28293966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamerfreak/pseuds/dreamerfreak
Summary: On Christmas Eve in 1937, Victor Nikiforov wanders into a party and sees a sight he will never forget.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	His Favorite Christmas Story

_December 24th, 1937_

It was Christmas Eve, and Viktor wasn’t sure where he was. He was somewhere in Delaware, he was sure of that much, but he couldn’t remember the name of the town. It was snowing lightly as he wandered the dark streets. It was late, but the streetlights cast a golden glow, and up ahead more lights shone out into the streets as a door opened and laughter and music spilled out. Cautiously, he ventured closer. He wasn’t always welcome at things like these. His transient ways and the odd jobs that supported him made him an outcast in many communities, but the small group hovering outside the door of the dance hall smoking merely grinned and nodded as he approached.

There was a box inside the door for the nickels and dimes that people dropped in as the entered—a fee to cover the punch and treats that covered the tables at one side. But the majority of the floor was given up to dancing, boys and girls in dresses and suits spinning and laughing in the warm light. Viktor deposited his coin and slipped along the edges of the room toward the refreshments, smiling softly as he watched the dancers. Things like this made him wonder if he should find a town and a steady job and settle down, but every time he tried, his feet started itching, too restless with the same people and the same tasks day after day.

The punch was fruity and possibly spiked with something. Viktor sipped slowly, basking in the warmth and festive mood. He was on his second glass when something caught his eye.

It was the red that he noticed first—not that there was any lack of red on this Christmas Eve. But something about the shade, about the way it contrasted with his black hair and lightly tanned skin… Once Viktor noticed him, he couldn’t look away. As he completed a spin that flared the skirt to almost scandalous heights, Viktor saw that he was wearing lipstick that matched the dress perfectly and he almost dropped his punch glass at the sight.

He was dancing alone among the crowd, somehow. He floated between the other couples, stopping for a moment to dance with this boy or that girl, and then moving on. He was mesmerizing to watch, a joyful mirage that Viktor was sure couldn’t be real.

Viktor hovered by the refreshments table through four more songs, watching as he continued to dance without pause, seeming to never tire. The clock ticked later into the evening, but the party showed no signs of stopping. With a bracing breath, Viktor set down his empty punch glass (how many had he drunk by now?) and straightened his jacket. His suit wasn’t fancy, but it was clean at least. At a quarter till eleven, he stepped onto the dance floor and approached the man in the red dress to ask him to dance.

For some reason, he said yes.

Viktor didn’t know how long they danced. Hours, maybe. At some point, the music switched to carols, and people left the dance floor to gather by the refreshments tables and sing along. But they didn’t stop. They danced closer instead, slow sweeping steps as Viktor held him close and they watched each other without needing to say a word.

It felt like what Viktor imagined love to be.

Eventually the night had to end, as all nights do. It was the early hours of Christmas morning when they parted, the other man’s friends gently tugging him away. Viktor’s last sight was that red dress and those red lips, smiling as he was pulled reluctantly through the door. It was only a couple of hours into it, but Viktor decided that this was his best birthday ever.

It wasn’t until later, when the punch and the euphoria wore off, that Viktor realized that he had never gotten his name.

~*~

_December 25, 1939_

It was Christmas day, in another town, at another diner. It was empty, except for him and the waitress and a cook in the back. Despite this, the young waitress seemed happy, red hair bouncing as she brought him his plate of traditional Christmas dinner, then sat down across from him with a plate of her own, raising her eyebrows as if to ask if he minded. He nodded and smiled and listened to her chatter as they ate. It had been a long time since he had shared a meal with someone on this day.

“Tell me a story,” she said as she set down plates heaped with pecan pie. “A little holiday cheer.”

Viktor hummed consideringly, poking at his pie with his fork, but he already knew what he was going to say, a soft smile spreading across his face. He nodded. “Here’s my favorite Christmas story about the boy with no name. I met him up in Delaware in 1937…”

It wasn’t as good as having the real thing back in his arms, but the warmth he got from sharing their story was comforting, and he left the diner that evening with a smile on his face.

~*~

He continued that tradition for years. No matter where he was, whatever nameless town he found himself in became host to a retelling of his favorite Christmas story. A diner or community center or even a church, he would find someplace with people and share their story, their one night, and his chest would grow warm and his heart light. And even as his joints started to ache and the traveling life lost its luster, his Christmas story kept him going.

~*~

_December 24, 1963_

He was going to be 54 tomorrow. Sometime in the last few years, his wanderlust had left him and he had found a tiny house that needed work and a job that kept him active while not making his bones hurt too much and settled down. He hadn’t thought this far ahead when he was younger, he could admit to himself. But it wasn’t as lonely as it could have been. The neighborhood was small and close-knit, but they accepted him with wide-open arms. The children came by in the evenings to hear him talk about his years on the road, the people he had met, and the things he had seen.

But there was a special tradition for Christmas Eve. Once the sun set and the stars crept out, the children slipped through yards and across streets and through the front door. Parents followed close behind, bearing desserts and hot drinks, for adults and children alike. And when everyone was settled into his living room, suddenly cozier than it had been anytime in the previous year, he told their story. The story. The story of the Boy with No Name.

The triplets sat in front of him now, bouncing anxiously as they waited for him to start. “You met him up in Delaware!” one said, too impatient to wait any longer.

“In 1937!” the next continued, even as their mother tried to hush them.

“He was wearing red lipstick…”

“To match his pretty dress,” Viktor finished, grinning at them all. They had it memorized by now, word for word, but that didn’t stop their excitement for hearing him tell it. And it didn’t stop his heart from filling with a bittersweet joy at the telling of it. He would never grow tired of telling about their one night—the night they fell in love.

~*~

_December 25, 1983_

Somehow, Viktor thought as he breathed heavily, fighting to get any air through the rattle in his lungs. Somehow, it was appropriate that it ended like this, on Christmas day, on his birthday. The best day of his life, and also the loneliest.

There was a gentle knock at the door, and Viktor struggled to turn his head and see past all the tubes and wires. A small man with graying hair, just a few years younger than him perhaps, but certainly in better health, slipped into the hospital room with only the assistance of a cane. A volunteer perhaps? Viktor smiled weakly and tried to squeeze the hand that took his own gently.

“Hello, Viktor,” the man said quietly. “How are you feeling today?”

Viktor shook his head instead of trying to answer, feeling a tickle in his throat that he didn’t want to aggravate into a coughing fit.

The man patted his hand gently and nodded in understanding. “I saw that you’re just as alone on Christmas as I am, so I thought I’d keep you company, if that’s alright?”

Viktor fought for a deep breath, risking the coughing to ask, “Share a little holiday cheer?” He thought back to the first time he had told their Christmas story, to the red-haired girl in the diner, and smiled. He couldn’t tell it today, but he could still hear a new one. Maybe it was time to hear a new one.

The other man nodded slowly. “Well, it happened like this. I meet him up in Delaware in 1937, though I never caught his name. He was a traveling man…”

And as the story continued, so familiar and yet new, Viktor let his eyelids drift closed, tears leaking out from under them. “I should’ve asked for your name,” he whispered hoarsely. If the other man responded, Viktor never heard it. He let the soft black cradle him as he (finally) held his love’s hand.

~*~

_December 25, 1937 – Redux_

Viktor stepped out into the dark, quiet streets of a small-town in Delaware that he didn’t know the name of. The party-goers had gone home. The dance hall had gone dark. The stars watched him as he did a small skip down the middle of the empty street. He had been _beautiful_ , that man in the red dress. And something in Viktor’s heart said that this might be something once-in-a-lifetime, something perfect that he would never, ever forget.

The stars seemed to swirl together and Viktor realized that somewhere along the way, he had gotten drunk, but the world around him had never felt sharper or more real. He had never felt more alive than right at this moment, and he wished there was some way to keep hold of it, for the rest of his life.

Behind him, he heard the crunch of footfalls in the snow. “Wait!” someone called, and Viktor whipped around so fast he got a little dizzy. Or maybe that was the alcohol. Or maybe it was the man in front of him, coming to a panting stop, hair in disarray and breath pluming in the cold. “Wait,” he said one last time, even though Viktor had already stopped.

The man straightened up, smoothing the crinkles from his lovely red dress, and looked him in the eye. “I know you said that you never stay in one place for very long, but… do you think you might want to stay a few more days? Here?” _With me?_

Moments ago, Viktor had thought that he could never be happier, and yet this— _this_ —made his heart soar. “Yes,” he said. Just that. “Yes.” He closed the short distance between them and offered the other man his arm.

He blushed up to his ears as he looped his arm through Viktor’s. “I’m Yuuri, by the way.”

“Viktor,” he replied. “I’m Viktor. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yuuri.”

_This_ , he thought, smiling down at Yuuri—his name was Yuuri!— _was going to be his favorite Christmas story to tell._

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the song His Favorite Christmas Story by Capital Lights. It makes me cry, every fucking time. Last year I felt inspired to attempt to give a happy ending to this song, and what better way to do it then through Victuuri. I hope you enjoyed this little journey of Victor's as much as I do. Take care, and Merry Vicmas to all. 😉
> 
> Thanks to all the lovelies in the chaos server for helping me bring this story to life just the way I envisioned it. 💖


End file.
